


Stay Made Of Lightning

by oooh-styles (ohlesterno)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Bathtub Sex, Bathtubs, F/M, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:27:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohlesterno/pseuds/oooh-styles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You still got the other boys. It’s going to be okay, babe, it’s all going to be okay,” you say whispering softly into Harry's damp hair. </p><p>And you are sure that at some point, somewhere in the future, you will start believing it yourself. And he will realise that you were right. Like he had always been when he promised you the same.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Made Of Lightning

**Author's Note:**

> I hope it's not too soon, much love to all my Directioners. xx

When you wake up in the dark, air-conditioned bedroom in some fancy hotel in Jakarta,Indonesia you can’t help but feel something is off. You hear the muted voicecoming from the lounge at the same time you realise the spot beside you is empty. And has been for quite some time as the sheets had gone cold. When you roll over to pull the phone free from the charger on the nightstand the screen lights up and tells you it’s just after 2am.

An unsettling feeling creeps up from your toes and ties tight knots in your stomach as you push yourself up from the bed. You pull Harry’s Calvin Klein hoodie - that he left abandoned on the fluffy crème coloured carpet behind the bed – over your head. It’s long enough to cover your bum so you can’t be bothered to find a pair of panties as you head for the lounge. Where, you realise, Harry has gone silent. You pull the sleeves of his jumper all the way over your hands and wrap your arms around yourself as you shiver. Though you’re pretty sure you’re still warm from sleeping.

Normally, you wouldn’t go after him like this. Harry gets phone calls at the craziest hours all the time. But things haven’t exactly been normal lately. In fact, nothing has been so you can’t fight the urge to go check on Harry. Even if it’s just to settle your nerves because surely, it’s not what you think. Zayn is coming back and everything is going to be exactly the way it was. No more stress, no more fears that will be left unsaid. Because you know it’s been tearing the boys apart on the inside, but none of them, except maybe Liam, have really admitted to it. As if, as long as they don’t talk about it, it’s not real.

But what you find in the lounge is very real. Realer than real. Realer than anything you are prepared for. Harry sits on the couch, his broad back bend as he rests his elbows on his knees and holds his hair in a tight grip with both his hands. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers as if he didn’t expect the phone call to take long when he picked it up. His phone still lit up and dangling between a few of his fingers. The odd way his back stutters and the muffled gasps that escape his lips make you very reluctant to take another step. All your hope is gone as you silently make your way over to him anyway. You don’t want to make him notice you, mostly because you don’t want to make him say what you know he is going to say. More for his sake than yours.

When you literally can’t take another step without ending up standing on his bare toes, that dig holes in the carpet as he pushes them down into it violently, he still hasn’t looked up. Your eyes fill with tears because of how he sits there and sobs silently.

“Baby?” you whisper, your voice sounding strange and squeaky. Far from the comforting, confident tone you went for.

He flinches and you watch him drag his hands back out of his hair slowly before tilting his head to look at you. Genuine surprise crosses his face before the heartbreak forces its way through it again. When he gets up on his feet he staggers. Tears left his cheeks stained red and shiny in the weak light provided by the glass chandelier that hangs from the ceiling right above him. And they’re still running. He wipes at his nose with the back of his hand and shakes his head. Parts his lips as if he is going to speak and then doesn’t.

“Oh my God, baby,” you say, thinking that you should say a million things right now but everything gets lots somewhere between your mind and mouth. But he spreads his arms and squeezes you against him. Way too tight for it to be comfortable and it’s pretty hard to breathe as he buries his face in your neck and starts to cry again.

“He’s not coming back, Y/N” he says sounding monotone and empty. As if he can’t even find to energy to think of a way he should be sounding right now. And he probably has no idea. And then, how the hell are you supposed to deal with knowing one of your brothers, one of the guys you’ve spent the last five and most important years of your life with, is not coming back.

For a moment you think about everything that is ahead of him. Everything he probably hasn’t even thought of yet. Soon, very, way too soon, he has to step out on that stage again with one of his best mates missing. And every single person in the crowd will be staring at the empty spot. All eyes will be on them. Of course you know that sure, this decision has been hard on Zayn and it’s a very brave one because of it, but he is surrounded by his family, all of his friends to help him through it. And right at this very moment, you’re all Harry has. And you are overwhelmed with love and pity for your boy. Your strong, beautiful, loving, always positive and light-hearted boy that now looks like a fragile little foal. His eyes and nose are equally as red and his hair’s a mess from repeatedly dragging his fingers through it. His shoulders shake and he feels cold as stone. Shivers violently against you as you try to rub some warmth and comfort into the strong muscles on his back.

“There has been this voice in my head that warned me for it, but I kept thinking no – we can make it. We’ve been making it for so long now, we will find a way. And I told him that again just now, Y/N. I tried to get him to change his mind but he really… he told me he can’t do it anymore.”

The words come out all at once, stumbling over each other as he speaks against your neck, not lifts his head one bit. He clings onto you as tight as he has ever done and you manage to pull your head up. Rest your chin against his chest and hate that you have to show him that you’re crying too. But you need to say what you’re about to say.

“Don’t blame yourself for this okay. This is no-one’s fault. I need you to promise me that you get that. Zayn had to make this decision for himself.”

“I know that, I know, I promise but he’s Zayn for fuck’s sake. He’s our brother. It may have been a stupid thought but I always… I really thought that it was going to be us, all five of us, until the end.”

You bring both your hands up to place them against the sides of his face and brush some tears away with your thumbs. It’s pointless really as fresh ones immediately stain his cheeks wet again.

When he lets go of you it’s only to push his hands through your hair and leave them there. His body shakes vividly in that odd way it sometimes does when you’ve been crying for a very long time. You try to think of something to say but honestly, that’s what you thought as well. It’s not a secret to anyone that Zayn has been struggling with the whole never-ending schedule of the boys for some time, but you thought that they would pull him through it like they had always been able to help each other through everything. But obviously everyone had a breaking point. Even the almighty One Direction boys.

Lost for words and with a mind that has gone blank in despair, you curve your fingers around his fore arms. “Can I run you a bath?”

You don’t know how that is going to help with anything but you can’t recall one time in your life where a taking a warm, soothing bath has ever made anything worse. And at least it’s going to get him warm.

His short, hesitating nod encourages you.

 

“Wait here,” you tell him, not entirely sure why. But you don’t want to give him any more tasks than are absolutely necessary as he’s still swaying on his feet. As if you were the only one that stopped his legs from giving out on him.

The smile he tries to offer when you head for the bathroom just sends his lips into a thin, straight line.

“Can we not turn on a light? I don’t know, I’m not…” he gives up in the middle of the sentence and rubs at his nose again. “I don’t know,” he concludes helplessly as you come back for him a couple of minutes later. He’s still standing in the exact same spot. The screen of his phone lights up to announce an incoming call and then it goes dark for only a couple of seconds before the next one comes in.

You blink against your own tears again as you softly push him further into the dark, steamy bathroom. “We won’t, get in the water, you need to get warm.”

He tenses for a moment when he lowers himself underneath the water and lets the heat prickle at his skin but then you see him relax somewhat. As you sit down behind him, he lets his head fall back against your shoulder and you stroke soapy hands down his chest, and up again to dart your fingers down his biceps and silently scratch at his scalp with your nails. And you realise how many times he’s been there for you, providing comfort, a safe place. Not needing words to reassure you and let you know that at some point all will be fine again. And as you rub your cheek against his hair, all you can do his hope that you can offer him at least a tiny bit of everything right now.

After a couple of minutes of silence and nothing but his unsteady, gaspy breathes to remind you directly of his ace, you catch some of the bubbles in your hands and pushes them up his chest, spreads the soap across it and hides his ink under a thick layer of thick, oriental scented foam. Then you move on to wash his shoulders, his arms and push your fingers down his thighs as far as you can with his weight still pushing you back against the edge of the tub. You can only see the left side of his face but his eyes are closed and his mouth has gone slack though there is no escaping the way his shoulder are still tense against your collarbones and breasts.

Just as you drag your fingers up his thigh again, with no other intention than to push them back up his chest, wash away the soap with more water, his fingers close around your wrist. Guiding you up a little more and then aside, lets your hand rest on his cock.

“Babe?” you whisper carefully, a hand now loosely cupping his cock.

“Please,” he says, voice thick with sadness and possibly, maybe something else.

“You’re not even…” You never had a problem talking sex to Harry, but right now, when every word feels like a waste, it seems odd.

“I will be, I will get there.” He sounds weak, voice thick and raspy, but also certain.

“I need to feel something else… you, babe please.” He closes his hand around your fingers that are curved around his hardening cock, but he’s not moving. He’s leaving it up to you to decide.

Still a little hesitant, but definitely willing to do whatever he needs you to, you drag your knuckles up the shaft, moving your fingers to curl them loosely at the head. He watches as your hands slides down and his breaths go unsteady, but not in the same way as before. When you pull back up, rub a thumb over his slit, he jerks his hips and closes his eyes. “God,” he pants before another “please,” comes over his lips.

“Easy,” you whisper, jacking him slow as you suck light kisses to the corner of his mouth and in his neck. “If we’re doing this I want it to be good for you…”

“Don’t worry, it’s good, you’re always so good baby…”

You can see precome building up at the tip, thick and shiny in the dark bathroom. The only light coming in through the half closed door. “Fuck my hands for me baby,” you whisper, not able to do much more from this angle as you reach out with both your arms around him.

And Harry does. He settles into a slow, rolling rhythm and fucks your hands, rides up into them almost lazily – as if he wants it to last as long as he can. Until you encourage him go harder. “C’mon babe,” you whisper, tightening your grip a little, getting him to fuck up harder.

Harry reaches up, fists a hand into your hair and clenches the fingers of the other around the edge of the tub as he arches his back away from you, his shoulders pushing you back with force. “Jesus,” he groans, “don’t… fuck, I’m gonna…” Water splashes over the edge, soaking the marble tiles and the towels you left on the floor.

You’re just in time to cup your fingers over the head and he shoots into your hand. Spills warm cum all over your fingers. He comes hard and hisses desperately and you keep going, jack him all the way through it until he falls back into your arms, heavy and exhausted. Drained. Unable or not willing to say anything but your name and a couple of curses that you can’t really understand as they are barely a whisper.

You reach over the edge of the bathtub to grab one of the wet towels and wipe your hand in it. It’s going to be a pain to clean but you’re sure the cleaners have dealt with things way worse than cum. 

When Harry tips his head back against your shoulder, you know he’s crying again. You lightly place the palm of your hand against his forehead and rub your thumb across his temple to hopefully relief him from the headache that you’re almost certain is pounding beneath his skull. You drag the fingers of the other hand through the cum that spattered high up on his chest, then let your hand wander through the water until he grabs it and laces his fingers through yours, holding it tight.

“You still got the other boys. It’s going to be okay, babe, it’s all going to be okay,” you say whispering softly into his damp hair.

And you are sure that at some point, somewhere in the future, you will start believing it yourself. And he will realise that you were right. Like he had always been when he promised you the same.


End file.
